


Pain for Love

by chapstickaddict



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:06:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chapstickaddict/pseuds/chapstickaddict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: So its my headcannon that Thorin would only lower himself to working as a common blacksmith in the cities of men for a pittance for one reason: so that his little nephews, his boys, went to sleep in a bed with full tummies.</p>
<p>No one else would even expect him to subject himself so, not even his sister would ask him. But he does it. For the boys. And watching them play and thrive is the only thing that can soothe his wounded pride.</p>
<p>IDK, I'm smack bang in the middle of les mis rehearsals and all I can think about with this is "And the children are at home, and the children have got to be fed, and youre lucky to be in a job and in a bed."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pain for Love

At first, Dis didn't see the pattern. She had been pregnant with Fili at the time, constantly exhausted and perpetually hungry. Gregr did what he could, but the smooth rolling hills of the countryside offered no opportunity for miners. He ate only after her, and the laugh lines around his eyes that she had adored since the beginning were slowly being chased by gaunt shadows. 

Neither of them thought about the strain a third mouth would bring.   
Baskets began appearing at their door by night. Small things; a loaf of bread, cheese, cured meats, some dried fruits. The dependency on strangers made her flush with embarrassment and humiliation, but the soft kicking in her belly outweighed it.

Sometimes, while drying laundry or out shopping, the bolder dwarves would quietly approach her and, after touching their hands to their hearts in respect, gently insist she take what little they could give. 

"You are their princess, lass," Balin explained later after she had nearly destroyed her kitchen with fury fueled by shame. "You, your brother, and your babe are all they have left of that. You cannot fault them for trying to protect it."

"I do not need their pity."

"But they need to pay a debt."

That stilled Dis.

"We cannot rebuild what we have lost in this lifetime, or even in the next three," Balin continued softly. "But we will one day, and Thorin is the beginning of that. He will not accept their thanks for long days at hot forges, for swallowing the insults of lesser men, for doing his duty and leading them."

Balin leaned forward, his eyes soft and his voice gentle. 

"We've all lost much, lass, and you of all people know how fiercely dwarves cling to what they believe is precious."

Dis thought of the babe in her belly, already so treasured and anticipated by not only she and hers, but also by every other Erebor dwarf. She had lost count of the number of hands that had brushed across her stomach. She thought of the near five years of black arm bands and melancholy songs in remembrance of the fall of Frerin, so young and full of energy. And she thought of her brother, who visited as often as he could to give what he had, with dark circles under his eyes and new callouses on his hands. Hunger had not left his face untouched either. 

She still flushed when baskets appeared at their door, or when accosted at the market, but the memory of Thorin gently cradling a small, golden haired bundle helped soothe it greatly. 

*

The day was blistering, the sun beating down with fierce determination. Combined with the heat and smoke from the forge and Dwalin was convinced he was in the heart of Mordor itself. Thorin, stone-faced and silent, only continued to hammer away as their more impatient costumers, a rowdy group of mercenaries, sulked and shuffled around outside. 

 

The desire for a brief reprisal from the worst of the heat had driven Dwalin out back to dunk his head under a bucket of water. The smooth cold felt marvelous against his skin, and he collected another bucket to take back to his prince. 

Thorin was at the front of the shop when Dwalin returned, speaking quietly to a tall, lean looking merchant with yellow eyes and brown teeth. 

"It's a good color, though rather corse." The merchant eyed Thorin's long locks with interest. "I can offer five golds for the whole head."

Dwalin would have the man's head off in a moment's breath, but the contemplative that crossed Thorin's face stilled his heart. Before his prince could do something so unthinkable, Dwalin dropped the bucket, gripped his arm, and dragged him back. 

"Your presence is not welcome here," he all but snarled at the man, who's eyebrows had shot up at his sudden appearance. 

"Surely-,"

Dawlin's hand found his axe by its own accord. The merchant quickly fled. 

Thorin met his eyes proudly, but Dwalin could see the faint lines of shame and defeat in his prince's baring. He stepped back, allowing the other to disappear into the back of the smithy while he chased their skulking customers way with a firm word and a loosely held battle axe.   
His prince was by the well when Dwalin returned, hands braced against the stone rim. 

"Thorin-,"

"Kili is sick," Thorin told the well wall. 

Dwalin rested his hand on the other dwarf's shoulder as Thorin's hands gripped the stone hard enough to turn his knuckles white. It took Thorin an uncharacteristically long while to regain control of himself.   
"Go tell our group of bush fighters that for five golds I can have their weapons finished by dusk." 

Dwalin nodded once to his prince and went to inform their customers. And if he looked a little more menacing then usual, well it was just to get them to agree that much quicker. 

*

Thorin sometimes wondered if his grandfather had ever felt this exhausted at the end of the day. As it was his limbs felt limp and soft, his eyes fuzzy and heavy-lidded. Thoughts came slowly to his weary mind. Was this what he was doomed to? Long days working for pennies and short nights of fatigue? How was he to regain Erebor, glory for his people, honor for himself, when he could barely take time to think during the day?

A soft thud drew his attention downward, and Thorin could not stop the smile that crossed his lips as a pair of chubby hands thrust themselves up at him, wriggling impatiently. Ducking low, he drew Kili into his lap, taking a moment to rest his forehead against his nephew's. Kili giggled at him and intwined his fingers into the braid running down the side of Thorin's face, causing the silver clip at its end to swing and catch the light. 

A matching set of clips were already resting in the budding braids of Fili's own golden hair. They had been Thorin's passed down from Thrain on the eve of the battle of Moria. There was another set for Kili, set aside for when he was older. Those, along with two clasps of Dis' she had managed to salvage from Smaug's wrath would be part of their inheritance and entrance to adulthood. The boys may not have much, but they would have anything that was Thorin's to give. 

Kili, in odds to his usual active persona, allowed Thorin to hold him quietly. He suspected lingering traces of childhood illness had sapped his young nephew of most of his wild energy. A little while later, Thorin felt, rather then saw, Fili shift his brother slightly so that he may too climb up to join them, silently cuddling close into Thorin's chest.   
They would soon be too old for this, Thorin realized with a mix of pride and terror. Too old to hold and cherish so blatantly. Fili was set to start training within the year. And if Kili kept growing as quickly as he seemed to be, he would not be far behind. He wondered if that thought paralyzed Dis as much as it did him. 

Hopefully, they would never know how harsh the first few years had been on them all. The food shortages, the deaths at the hands of raiders and highwaymen, the taste of despair that never left the air. 

They would never know the degradation that Thorin had stooped to; crafting beautiful weapons for inferior warriors. Baring the snide and cruel words of ignorant rulers because speaking would mean banishment, starvation, and death for his people. Bleeding himself dry to ease the burdens that gold lust and dragon's fire had lain on those he loved.   
The next thing Thorin remember was waking up with both boys still in his lap, asleep and twined around each other and him like over affectionate cats. A thick fur blanket covered all three of them, and quiet noises from the kitchen alerted him to Dis's return from the evening market. 

Thorin let his eyes drift back shut, but didn't go back to sleep. If the past years had taught him anything, it was that moments like this could not be cherished enough. Not with so few of them available. So he settled in, hugged his nephews close, and dreamed of better days. 

*

**Author's Note:**

> Yay I got an AO3 account!
> 
> I tend to fill Kink Meme prompts in my spare time to burn off stress, and I decided to share them here.
> 
> Enjoy!


End file.
